Play on through...

There are certain advantages to giving all my dates aliases. The not getting sued for libel being at the top of the list, followed closely by not getting phone calls from angry boys and their mothers.
But, there are disadvantages too; take for instance when I go out with someone with a truly horrible name and it can't become a funny part of the blog because I am not in the business of being cruel, or getting sued.

So I'm left to come up with an equally horrid name.
Rusty is a bad name, right? For this episode of the saga, Rusty it is!
I've known other people with bad names who took matters into their own hands and said you are calling me THIS, not THAT! Take my Vietnamese-American friend Dung for example. He goes by Andy. Wise decision as his parents didn't really get how Dung would translate in America-land. My friend Kate actually picked her name when she was 8. However, before she was known by Bluebird, and I kind of think that's cool.

Maybe Rusty doesn't know his name is reserved for little boys in the 1950s with red hair who were known around town as trouble makers? I wish I could blame the name on his parents being foreign or hippies, but neither of these scenarios are plausible.
They are from America.
He was born in the midwest.
What kind of hippies come from the midwest?
With a name like Rusty I half expected him to show up in overalls, though he was a former-pro golfer so this chance was slim.
Throughout the whole date I just kept thinking, Can't you at least go by Russ? All I can think when you say my name is Rusty is 'My mom had a pony named Rusty. He didn't have any teeth and we put him to sleep when I was 12. He was a very old animal. But ponies can live to be really old. His name fit him. He was the color of rust.' So I really can't call you that. 

And for the 80% of my readership who know my mother or are members of my family, you now know Rusty's real name.

Anyway... enough about the poor guy's name. It isn't his fault.

Rusty and I had emailed back and forth a bit and despite his statement that "Even though I lived in the midwest until I was 8, I am a California boy through and through" I agreed to go out with him. I try to avoid the Super-Cali-boys because they are just missing something my Super-Southern-self needs.

Rusty and I met up at one of the bars in my neighborhood. Chapter One has a delicious Moscow Mule that they serve you in a copper mug and so I figured, even if the date went south at least I got a good drink out of it and didn't have to travel far.

When I arrived he was sitting at the bar and had just ordered a Moscow Mule, which he gave to me after hearing that I would like one as well. One point for his chivalrous behavior... maybe I can get past this horrible name thing. I do nickname alot of people... Maybe I can do that with him.

We chatted through all the normal first date stuff; work; friends; living in the OC; sports (he is a Cowboys fan... Gross.); family, he has two siblings that are alot older than he; hobbies, obviously he likes golf; favorite places to visit, he has traveled in America quite a bit, but not much out of the country.
And wouldn't you know it? Despite my desire to rename him, we had a nice time.
I even stayed for a second drink.
That rarely happens.

He is pretty funny and anyone that can give me a legit golf lesson is alright in my book. Especially since I haven't played in about a year and my game really needs to be tuned up! He has also season tickets to USC football games. I don't even like USC, but the games are apparently a blast and I do love to tailgate. And after seeing all the pictures of their tailgating thanks to attending a presentation given by their Sustainability Manager I can safely say those USC fans know how to party. And I'd definitely spend an afternoon watching football and drinking beer with him.

When your ego needs a bit of a boost, it never hurts to have someone's undivided attention, hear you are gorgeous (yes, gorgeous and Lord knows I can't hear that enough), impressive, and smart, not to mention be on the receiving end of a delicious free beverage. And my date with Rusty did just that; got me back in the saddle; distracted me from Zach and reminded me that there are plenty of fun people wanting to go out with me.

Unfortunately for Rusty and his five head, (did I mention he has a HUGE forehead?) I figured this guy was going to land safely in the friend camp. As nice as he was there just wasn't a spark.
There wasn't even a flicker.
Hhe wasn't a hole in one. He was just a nice 5 iron shot that I can hit any day of the week. He wasn't the once in a blue moon, hitting over the river from the men's tee box that I always try for and maybe one time in a 100 my ball manages to hang on and not roll back into the river.
He wasn't the shot you leave on.
He was the good shot that keeps you coming back that makes the game worthwhile.*

He's the reminder that dating is a numbers game and you have to kiss a few frogs, or in my case 52, to find your prince.

But I'll probably go out with him again, maybe he has a cute friend?



* My apologies to the non-golfers, I might have gotten carried away with the golf references...

Not Caring 101

So, the last time I wrote about the Zach-capades I was going crazy. Bellvue had been called. A room was being readied.

I was thinking about arranging an accidental butt dial and questioning whether or not I was losing my mind. 

I had even started to do some Facebook stalking... Which I was too ashamed about to disclose at my last writing. 

I know. 

I know.

Facebook stalking only makes things worse.

Luckily, I got over that fairly quickly and put myself on a no-Facebook-stalking-generally-stop-acting-like-a-lunatic regiment. 

This involved working longer hours than usual, (which was fine because I have been busier than a bird dog); finally getting around to studying for a test I have to take; going for a run anytime I even considered FB stalking; taking more yoga classes; baking (which thanks to the running and yoga hasn't made me fat); and joining a new dating site, Plenty of Fish; and actually going on new dates (this blog isn't going to write itself).

As an aside, I think I do not care for POF (which is what the sender is listed as when they email me). The men on the site are weirdos. With a name like POF am I surprised it attracts odd balls? Thus far I have had a swinger; a guy named "Tomato" who sent me a picture of just his stomach, which, incidentally, did look like a tomato; a guy I blocked on OKCupid; a 68 year old man who is "just looking for a good time", excuse me while I vomit; and a 24 year old with 3 kids looking to settle down.

I had stopped waking up in the middle of the night wondering if Zach had called. I had stopped compulsively checking my phone in hopes of a text message. I had gotten to the point of fully never expecting to hear from him again.
And I was pretty much ok with it.
And patting myself on the back for coming out of my crazy funk relatively unscathed.

Until Wednesday night.
Sprinkles and I were lounging on the couch catching up on Boardwalk Empire, recovering from a run, and eating the new Peanut Butter Cheerios out of a mixing bowl I had swiped from my Mother.
The stop acting like a crazy person regiment didn't include doing dishes.

Obviously, I was doing well.
I was getting excited about the little things again.
I mean come on! Peanut Butter Cheerios?!?!
I love peanut butter and Cheerios are the only cereal I willingly eat.
And enough time to sit on my couch and actually WATCH Boardwalk Empire, not just listen to it as I did other things.
Life. Was. AHHHHH-SOME!

And then BOOM.
Or more likely "quack" cause that's the sound my phone makes when people text me.
There, lighting up my screen was a text from "Zach from Beer Olympics"

Wonders never cease.

"Hey! Sorry I didn't hang out at all this weekend. I ended up in San Diego. Yes. By choice."
I wasn't sure what the by choice part meant. I go to SD all the time by choice! That city is fun, and my friend Katie lives there so that makes it doubly fun!
Then he sent a picture of all his hair laying on the floor after his hair cut.
"I'm leaving for Kentucky on Friday. Anything you want/need?"

And I didn't respond. I was determined to be the Ice Queen. And I was not about to let him think I was sitting around waiting for him to call me. As if! I am very busy and important. In fact right now, I am having dinner with Nucky and Margaret! So what if it is cereal from a mixing bowl?
What's even more impressive is I didn't get overly excited about this development.

Three hours later I texted him back. On the advice of more than one dude I kept it simple.
"Possibly. Are you checking a bag?" I texted.
I didn't comment on his hair cut.
I didn't acknowledge the the no-show on the weekend.
I am pretty sure there was an icy chill traveling through the phone and Paul Abdul's Cold Hearted Snake was playing in the background.
He responded almost immediately. "Yep. I'm bringing back Bourbon Barrel Ale and bourbon."

And yet again I didn't respond immediately. He was talking about two of my favorite things! Bourbon Barrel and Bourbon! I deserve a medal!
 I did however text a few people to tell them I hadn't responded and that they should be proud of me.

The next morning I finally responded with, "Hmmm... probably no room for moonshine then with all that other liquid."
"The bag will be mostly liquid." He texted back.

After work as I waited for my yoga class to start I finally responded.
"How do you feel about bringing back some moonshine for me? I'll have it packaged so it doesn't arouse suspicion."
"I'm game to try. Can it be dropped off at my hotel?"
"Sure."
"Could I get a quart for myself from your supplier?"
"I'll have to check." I said knowing full well my Dad has a nice stock of moonshine at the house and he would give him some if I asked. But I wasn't really sure I wanted to share the moonshine. Especially not with Mr. Disappearing Act. But he was bringing me moonshine, so I shouldn't be greedy... GAH!
"Ok. Just let me know. We are staying at blahbitty, blah, blah near campus."

I was shocking myself with my "whatever" attitude and all the not replying I was doing.
I went to yoga and had a great sweaty workout. During the workout I actually managed to meditate, and not on ways to get Zach to call me. I cleared my mind and created some space in my body and felt very zen.
I am sooooo California...
I felt much more like myself than I had felt in awhile.
I felt like I was really back to normal-Crigger and I wasn't going to be stuck as the twittery,-freaking out-crazy-Crigger I had almost become.

As I drove home from yoga I called my Mom and relayed the plans for getting my moonshine to Zach. She was going to be in Lexington, so she was more than happy to go drop the moonshine off to Zach.
She claimed she was going shopping and had been planning to go for awhile.
Sure you were, Mom. Sure you were. I know that move. Shoot! I've used that move! I am my mother's daughter! 

After she and I hung up I jumped into the shower and did the world's fastest get ready so I could meet my friend Evan at a concert.

I was soooo excited about this concert! I just needed a night out! I need to have some fun. Drink some bourbon. Hear some live music. And bounce around with 200 strangers to an albino Muslim rapper.
(Brother Ali is great by the way, and you should all check him out.)

Ev and I met in the parking lot of the concert and as we walked in we lamented that we didn't have dredlocks or Chuck Taylors like our fellow concert goers.
"It is still gonna be awesome though!" I squeeled.
"You owe me one."
"Absolutely! Whatever you want to see! I'm totally down!"
"Yelawolf. October 6th. You are coming."
"Except that. I'm out of town then. But anything else! I swear! I'm there! I'm getting a bourbon. You want anything?" I was going a mile minute. I couldn't have been more excited if I was twins.
"I'm not drinking tonight."
"Well, if I'd known that. I would have made you drive me!"

I got my drink and we headed into the venue. It was a small space, but it had started to fill up and I was already rethinking my brilliant idea to wear my new jeans. Just because it is starting to be fall in other places, doesn't mean that shorts and tank tops aren't still appropriate for a jam-packed room with horrid ventilation in So-Cal.

As we waited for the first act to start Ev and I gossiped about work and tried to figure out if the weight from dredlocks could be attributed more to the dirt that must be holding them together or the actual hair. As we chatted I felt myself becoming more animated. I was so excited to be out! Plus, the bourbon was hitting me quickly thanks to the yoga and no time for dinner. Oh well!  That's what a sober co-worker is for!

Scanning the crowd I saw a guy wearing a Chicago Bears shirt and didn't think much of it. I vaguely thought, "Oh, Zach likes the Bears." and then went back to chatting with Ev.
Then the guy in the Bears shirt drifted back into my line of sight. Hmmm, I recognize that nose. No. No, it can't be... Yep. Yep. That's him. Oh gawd.
"Holy crap Ev!" I whispered. "I think Zach's here. And by think, I mean, he's here."
"What?! Zach-Zach? Where?"
"Yep. That's him. Don't look now, but he is like three people to your right, a little in front of us. He's wearing a Bears shirt and hat."
"BAAAAHAHAHAHAHHA! Do you want to go hide?"
"Absolutely not! I'm not hiding from him! If he sees me. Fine. If he doesn't, that's probably for the better!" I said and I almost believed it.
"Way to be cool, Honey BooBoo." He said sarcastically.
"I feel like he keeps looking over here. You know how you can feel when people are looking at you? Stand right there, I need a collect myself. Oh geeze! I was gesturing like a maniac just a minute ago. He probably saw all that!"
"What are you going to do?" He asked.
"I have no idea. At least he isn't here with another girl!" I said downing my drink. "I am pretty sure I need another drink. You good?"

As I pushed my way through the growing crowd towards the bar I thought, "What are the chances. I've been trying to see this guy for ages and now he is just showing up where I am? Well, at least I am with a dude! He doesn't know Evan is my married BFF from work, though if he sees me and I introduce them he will know who he is, cause I've talked about him before! I hope he is watching me walk across this room!"
"Maker's and diet please."
"$9." said the bartender.
$9 For a Maker's and diet!!! I can buy a 5th for $15. Robbing me blind Cali! I thought as I handed over a $20.

As I made my way back over to Evan my phone quacked with a text. I assumed it was Alexis or my Mom. Nope, it was Zach.
"U at a concert by chance? Thought I saw someone that really resembled you." He texted.

"Ev, look at this! What do I say?" I said showing him the message.
"What about this?" I said typing, "Ummm yeah... Stalk me much. Are you at the Brother Ali show?" I texted.
"Hahahaha. What are you doing at a Bro Ali show? And yes I am." He replied.
"My musical tastes are teasingly diverse." As I typed someone reached out and touched my hand.
I looked up, it was Zach.
Cue heart flutter and stars in my eyes.

And then he did this thing that he does alot and I find endlessly charming and child-like precious at the same time. He pointed to me, then pointed to himself and kind of raised one eyebrow in sort of a fancy meeting you here gesture.
"What are you doing here?" He asked.
"I'm getting ready to listen to some music. I'm here with my friend Ev. This is Evan, you've heard me talk about him." So much for letting him think you are on a date Crigger. "What are you doing here?"
"No, no. This is my scene. I am completely shocked you are here. Pleasantly so, but shocked." He said smiling. "Can you name three of his songs?"
"Yes. I can. But I am handicapped in this area. I will know a band's whole ucatalogue, and be able to sing it to you word for word, and have no idea what their name is. Case in point, was crushed when I realized Of Monsters and Men had been here because I love them and just didn't actually know their name. My friends love to play 'Crigger sing this song'. Kelly and Phil once called me in the middle of the night so I could sing Gin and Juice for them. But back to your earlier question, Forest Whitaker and Looking at ya Sideways.... Hmmm.... well that's all I've got. And the only reason I know those two names are because they happen to be on my iPhone." I said. Way to keep it brief, you Ice Queen, you. 

Ev and I hung out with Zach and his friend for the rest of the concert and it was fun and nice and easy.
How things should be.
After the concert we stood in the parking lot chatting for ages about random things and just kind of catching up, which shed some light on why he had been a bit MIA, without me ever really having to ask.
The parking lot was completely empty when I finally opened my door and made real moves to leave.
As he leaned in for a hug I said, "You don't want to hug me. I am super sweaty."
"I don't care. I am too." He said wrapping his arms around me.
"No, but I have the world's most efficient self-cooling system." I said kind of trying to pull away as he tightened his grip. "I didn't need to go to yoga this afternoon, I could have just come here."
"You are sweaty." He said laughing as he ran his hands up and down my back. "Ooops. I missed a spot." He said smiling as he ran his hand over my back again.

And here comes the really good part.
Standing there in my damp white t-shirt, jeans and flip-flops in the weird orange-y glow of the parking lot lights he bent down and kissed me.
It was the kind of kiss that makes you smile before its even over.

Momma Crigger always says it happens when you least expect it and I believe that.
You fall for people in the small moments.
The kisses in a parking lot. The bonding over owning the same t-shirt. The shared glass of  moonshine. The random discovery that you have something completely obscure in common.

Maybe these are the things that fairy tales are made of...
I don't know how this ends yet, and even if things don't end how I want them to, they will end how they are supposed to.
If nothing else, it was an amazing night full of luck, serendipity and hope.

Shifting Sands: Part 2

So when we last left off I was gathering up all my moxy to call Zach.
Normally, I wouldn't need a moxy gathering session to make a phone call, but things had fallen off a bit weirdly and I was miffed.
Yes, miffed. Blame that word on the Brit I dated briefly.

Why doesn't he like me anymore?
Do I stink? Do I have an annoying habit I am unaware of? Had I done something to freak him out? Had I said something dumb? Was I hitten by the ugly stick in my sleep? Did he find out about the blog?

Then I started with the "what ifs".
What if I had played harder to get?
What if I hadn't returned some of his calls?
What if I had been less available?
What's spiral quickly out of control. Blame it on my over active imagination and hyper-analytical thought process. I was driving myself crazy.

I was turning into that girl who was insecure and on a continuous downward spiral of self-doubt. And I really don't like that version of myself. It isn't me. It is a version of myself that comes out once in a blue moon, which coincidentally we experienced at the end of August when this was going on...

Quite frankly, I am simply not that girl.
I have, as my friend Joe called it, a robust sense of self-confidence.
Obviously, any one who thinks she can get 52 dates in a year must not be lacking in the confidence area...

So, after driving myself crazy about why we hadn't hung out, I decided to call Zach.
I'm a modern lady. I can ask a guy out.
No answer. But it was the middle of the day, so this wasn't surprising. I left a message asking him if he wanted to get a drink that night since I would be near his house for my riding lesson.

When I came out of my riding lesson at 7:00 I had a missed call and several texts.
Whooo hoooo!
In my mind I was jumping and clicking my heels together.
More likely it was an awkward victory dance that combined the cabbage patch with my horrid version of the moonwalk.
After I quit doing my victory dance, I called Zach back and he said a drink sounded good, but he needed to check and see what time his contractor would be finished.
Always with that dang contractor... GAAAAAAAAAAAH!
His contractor thought he would be done by about 9:00, so it looked like drinks around 9:00 and an end to the drought.

WRONG-O!
About 8:30 Zach called and said his contractor wouldn't be done until around 10:00 or 10:30. And I had a 7:00 am meeting so getting together at 11:00 was just not going to happen.
"How about Friday?" He asked.
"My friend Chan is coming to visit. We'll just be catching up. Probably drinking wine at my house. You are welcomed to come. We may hit the bars after."
"I don't want to be a third wheel. I know you haven't seen her in like three years. Maybe sometime over the weekend?"
"Yeah. I'll keep you posted."

Saturday Zach invited us to a party, but I was already committed to another party.
Sunday I invited him to the beach with us, but he had two fantasy football drafts to participate in.
Monday and Tuesday didn't work either. Chan and I had commitments and he was busy with work, though the texts were still coming in regularly.

On Wednesday night I was supposed to participate in my fantasy football draft and completely forgot about it until I was already at the Angel's Baseball game. I mentioned this to Zach and he offered to complete my draft for me. This was a lovely gesture, and likely to result in a much better team than I could probably select on my own (let's be honest, if they aren't a Steeler I probably know nothing about the player, unless they are super famous. You know the Favres, the Mannings, the Tebows of the football world).

BUT this offer was also fraught with peril. In order for him to do the draft for me, I had to give him my Fantasy Football username and password. Ordinarily, no big deal, but the way this account is set up requires signing in through my Facebook account.

If Zach finds out about the blog, this isn't really the way I want it to happen.

And I just generally don't want him creeping on my FB.  There are a myriad of reasons I haven't friended him on Facebook. Not everyone needs to see me dancing on tables, while sporting a purple crown and wearing polar fleece over my candy stripper outfit
Yes, stripper-- It was a Let's Play Doctor theme party!
Oh, and let's not forget the cigar.
Those photos are only for my 1500 FB friends-- none of whom I am trying to date.

Anyway... he promised not to be a cyber stalker. And I took him at his word and let him draft my players. I did of course change my password as soon as I got home just incase curiosity got the better of him.
Though I seriously doubted it would.

We texted again on Thursday on my way home from taking Chan-Chan to the airport.
Don't worry, I wasn't driving. And it was exceptionally brief. I sent those texts while I was stopped at the red lights.

And then crickets.
FOR A WHOLE WEEK! 
Which of course made me act like a full-on, crazy person. I was googling his company. I was googling him. I was trying to construct reasons I needed to be in his neighborhood. I was thinking of passive-aggressive ways I could get in touch with him. The fake butt dial was starting to sound like a pretty good idea. The rational part of my brain had been completely taken over by this psychotic freaker-outer.

Usually when things go south with a guy I like I can literally just stop thinking about him. I'll give myself a few days to be a nut and then I grow up and act like an adult. I put him in a box, wrap it up like a 5 year old wrapping Christmas presents for the first time using too much tape and about three layers of paper, and I stick that box in the attic of my mind.
The I promptly go out and find another date.

This time it has not been so easy.
I fall asleep wondering why he hasn't called. Which means I wake up clutching at pillows, searching for my phone in hopes that he has called or texted. I find myself scanning crowds looking for him. I hope against all odds that he is thinking about me too and the reason he hasn't called is because he is trapped under something heavy.

I try to distract myself. I sewed two new dresses. I painted a table. I finally cleaned underneath my sink. I've run the distance from here to San Diego in and effort to distract myself. I've cleaned horse stalls. I go to yoga to relax and pump up my endorphins. I end up crying in pigeon pose because I am releasing all the pent up emotion I have been carrying around; or at least that is what my teacher claims. I always thought they were full of crap when they said this to other people. I am re-thinking that position.

I went on a date with a former Pro golfer. If that doesn't distract me, not much will.

Finally after a week of silence I broke down and sent him a "Happy Friday!" text. To which he responded immediately. A good sign? I thought so.
"Sorry I've been out of communication for so long." He wrote. "How was your week?"
"No worries. (I've only be driving myself crazy wondering what I've done make you hate me shrieked the mellow-dramatic version of myself that I keep carefully hidden from all except my Mother, sister, and best friends) I've been super busy at work. I should just move into the dorms."
"How was SD?"
"SD? I haven't been down lately."
"Oh, I thought you were there for Labor Day."
"Nope. I was here. And in LA and Ventura."
"What are you doing this weekend?"
"Flag football. A six mile run. Chi O BBQ. Football watching. You?"
"Hanging out with the roommate tonight. Watching the Bears. Getting a hair cut at some point. Hopefully some beach time."
"Sounds good. Let me know if you want to hang out. I'm around."
"I certainly will."

AND THEN NOTHING.
Just go ahead and get me a room at Bellevue, because the crazy girl might be coming back.
At least for a day or two. Until I can pull myself out of these murky recesses and return to being my normal laid-back, cool girl self.
I hope she comes back soon. I don't like being one of those girls. 

Shifting Sands: Part 1

Four. The number of days since I've heard from Zach.
Three. The number of weeks that have passed since I've seen Zach.
Two. The number of times I have thought about sending him an accidental text just to have some contact.
One. The number of straight jackets I'll be requiring because I am going crazy trying to figure out where the wheel fell off the car.

When I was in high school I faced a similar conundrum.
One afternoon as I was sitting in my room my parents burst in saying "What happened to your car?"
I looked at them blankly and said, "Ummmm nothing. That I know of. Why?"
"Well something must have happened! The fender (I don't even know if that's what its called) above your right side tire is hanging off."
"What!" I shrieked going into full on panic mode. GP (my Jeep Liberty) was a mere four months old. She had been a complete surprise Christmas present and I kept her immaculate, both inside and out. I didn't let bird poop stay on her longer than half an hour, I certainly couldn't fathom that anything had happened to her while I was present!
Running outside I saw the horror-- The fender over the right wheel was, indeed, kind of pulled off. In hindsight, it really wasn't that bad. I'm not saying it was good. But it really wasn't the crisis situation I believed it to be at the time.
"How did this happen?" I wailed. Yes, wailed. I have a flair for the dramatics. Just ask my high school Spanish teacher. She once told me I was the most dramatic student she had ever had. Senora Grey taught for 30 years, so being the "most" anything was quite an accomplishment.   
"You must have hit something." said my Mother in her calm way. She is not a freaker-outer, like her daughter. At least not about minor things.
"That's impossible!"
"Evidence indicates otherwise." said my Dad, ever the voice of reason and calmness in our household. "Did you hit something backing up at Aunt Ruby's?"
"NO! I pulled into that little gravel patch her neighbor has in front of their shed to turn around. I had some trouble getting out of the dip so I got out at one point and checked to see if I was hung on anything. But there was nothing back there! So I put it into four wheel drive, pulled forward and gunned it and backed out just fine."
"So you didn't hit the fire hydrant?"
"NO! I remember seeing it when I was driving away and thinking 'Glad I didn't hit that!'" I said.
"Are you sure you didn't hit it?"
Even as I was protesting that I couldn't have hit it I started thinking back to when I had gotten out of the car to see if I was stuck on something. Now, my GP had four wheel drive. It pulled a U-Haul across the heartland. It went four wheeling on top of strip jobs. It would probably have climbed a tree if I asked it to, so getting out of a dip that was the equivalent of an inverted speed bump shouldn't require four wheel drive.
BUT backing over a fire hydrant would.
Yes, that's right. I backed up, and over a fire hydrant.
The reason I didn't see it when I got out to investigate the ditch is because my GP was on top of it.

The difference between the fire hydrant incident and the wheel falling off the Zach cart is that in the fire hydrant calamity I finally figured out what happened.
I still don't know where I lost the hubcap and subsequent tire in this whole Zach curfuffel.
And I probably never will.
Which is what really sucks and turns me into a lunatic that howls at the blue moon (which we just had).

In true girl fashion I have analyzed the situation backwards, forwards, inside out, upside down. Which I am SURE makes me all the more attractive, and not the least bit psychotic. Add this to the howling at the moon and I am a real treat!
Allow me to walk you through the my lunatic mind. I can't promise you'll come out unscathed.

Three weekends ago I hung out with him at his office on a Friday night. He had contractors there painting a mural, so he was stuck there and couldn't really go out. I like painting. And I really enjoy watching other people work while I drink, so I went over to keep him company for a few hours. When I left, he told me he and some of his friends were going to the beach tomorrow and that I should come.
"I'm supposed to run down there with Allison tomorrow, but depending on how we are feeling when we finish I'll give you a call and maybe we'll meet up."

Saturday after the run I called him, but no answer. Just as well, I looked disgusting and really just wanted to eat a frozen yogurt and roam the pier without worrying that I was a stinky, sweaty mess in front of the guy I was sweating! Just as Allison and I were leaving, Zach called.
"Sorry I missed your call. I forgot my phone in the car. What are you doing tonight?"
"Line dancing!"
"Have fun! We'll be back down at the beach tomorrow if you want to come."
"Okay. Just let me know where you'll be and I'll try to make it."

Sunday rolls around and we link up at the beach. I am admittedly not my most vivacious self. I'd had a late night the night before and was a tad tired. Plus, despite the fact that I own, oh, I don't know, about 20 swim suits, I'm not at my most super-confident-comfortable-self in them. Especially, around someone who I want to think I am foxy. And heaven forbid my skin clear up! This stupid humidity, while it gives my hair nice volume, it is making my skin freak out, which is not OK! So-Cal is basically the desert! It isn't supposed to be humid!

 Anyway... we beached it up for a few hours and then all head our separate ways.

Mid-week, Zach and I are chatting and he says his company is possibly looking for a new attorney, which is just a joy in So-Cal since all the attorneys are reasonably priced and nice people.
STUPID. STUPID ME, opens my big ol' mouth. "I know two attorneys who are nice. Though they don't appear to be hurting for money..."
"Would you care to find out their hourly?"
A giant "OH SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHIT" thought bubble formed over my head at this exact moment. You see, those two attorneys I know out here, I know them because I went out on dates with them and basically did a disappearing act.
But I went ahead and awkwardly contacted both of them, explained the situation, leaving out the bits about that they would be helping out my hoped for proper boyfriend. Both were beyond gracious, as I suspected they would be, but wasn't 100% sure they didn't hate me until I talked to them. And then passed on their info to Zach.
I debated on whether or not to tell him how I knew the two guys, finally deciding it was better he heard it from me than them.
I didn't want any of them to be all "How do you know Crigger?"
"Oh, I kinda dated her for awhile."
"Oh, yeah? Me too."
No, thanks! I don't need any help mucking up relationships. I do that just fine on my own.
Plus, I believe honesty is the best policy.
Except, if Zach finds this blog and is pissed about it. Then I will deny it to the day I die.

I told Zach I felt weird about telling him, but also that I felt weird about not telling him that I knew Matty and John because I had dated them.
He said, "You shouldn't feel weird either way. I would try to date OC lawyers too."
"I wasn't trying to date OC lawyers. It just kinda happened." I said. And I should have just shut my mouth right then and there. But I couldn't do it. It was like something was physically preventing me from ending the conversation. "It was during my dating spree."
"Oh, yeah? How did that work out for you?"
"It was fun. I met some cool people. Found some new spots in the OC that I didn't know about." Just stop talking Crigger! What is wrong with you? Are you an idiot? Obviously, the answer here is yes! AHHHHHHHH! How can I save this?
"And I met you. And if I hadn't been dating when we met I might not have said yes when you asked me out. And I'm glad we met." Really? This is the best you can come up with? Seven months of dating and you're no better at it than this? Quit now. Join a nunnery. Start practicing for your vow of silence by shutting up!

Hmmmm... maybe here is where we lost the hubcap? 
Maybe not...
Gahhhh! Dating is confusing and makes no sense!

Despite the verbal diarrhea I continued to hear from Zach, but there was no mention of plans to get together before he left for his friend's bachelor party. The last time he went out of town he was very interested in seeing me before he left. And was extremely interested in seeing me when he got back.

This time nothing.
Which of course made me feel crazy and pushed me into super analyzer mode.
Great! He's seen me in a swim suit and wants nothing to do with me.
Ahhh! He thinks I am a dating maniac and wants no part of that.
He probably thinks I'm sleeping with all the guys I've gone out with (I've gotten that question from my friends, and no, I'm not sleeping with all these people! Or any of them!)
I did a zit the day at the beach. I shouldn't have gone. Now he thinks I am ugly.
Oh, gawd. Maybe he has found out about the blog!
He hates me.
I am screwed. I'm destined to be a lonely old spinster.

And all of this madness was tempered by the rational side of my brain.

If he expects a super model then he should be asking them out, not you. Plus, he has called you beautiful and complimented your figure. Quit being crazy!
You are smart, funny, successful, pretty! What more could a guy want? He should be so lucky as to be your boyfriend! 
If one zit is enough to make him not want to see you anymore then you dodged a bullet. His expectations are impossible. 
There are more fish in the sea. Men are like buses, wait 15 minutes and another one comes along. And every other adage my mother, grandmother, best friend, aunts, Cosmo, co-workers, and random guy at a bar that I rambled to about the situation ever uttered just played on repeat in my brain.

So, after allowing myself to be in an over-analyze-y place for a few days I gathered up all my moxy and called him up.

Tune in at the end of the week to see how that all went down.